


Only a Dream

by DammitToby



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, just an idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:07:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DammitToby/pseuds/DammitToby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the idea that sometimes in Limbo you can dream deep enough to meet the Alternate Reality version of yourself. Arthur's life is drawing and illustrating, but lately he's been having strange dreams about a man named Dominick Cobb, who's supposedly his best friend, and a criminal underworld where thieves can walk in another person's dreams to steal ideas. They always end the same way: with a spinning top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> So at some point I was discussing the idea of Limbo and how if it were the deepest layer of subconscious, what would stop anyone from breaking the barrier of an Alternate Reality and meet themselves as they would be if they made a couple different choices? Anyway, the resulting fic starts with this chapter.

John made me watch a movie with him once. Said it would help get my creative juices flowing, it was supposed to be some big, mind-bending sci-fi hit. I think I fell asleep halfway through. He gave me shit for all week after. Said I was a terrible date. I won’t deny it, I replied, but at least you had fun tossing popcorn in my mouth. You were snoring, he replied. Something had to shut you up.

Anyway, somewhere in the beginning Laurence Fishburne offer Keanu Reeves a choice.

The blue pill, or the red pill.

The Truth or the Lie.

For some reason that always stuck out for me. As an illustrator, I’m familiar with choosing between staying lost in the story you’re trying to tell or returning to reality. The choice is why I fell asleep, actually: John found me slumped over my latest stack of panels.

Maybe that’s why when this entire dream thing started the only thing I could think of was that scene: The Blue Pill or The Red Pill, Arthur.

The Dream or Reality.

The funny thing about that movie, though. I can never remember which is truth or reality (I don’t know which one Keanu choose). I also don’t think we ever find out if he choose the right one.

If there is a right one.

~

Where do I start? At the beginning? At the end? How about one of each?

~

_**Patient: DuVal, Arthur** _

"…so the top is spinning, but then I wake up."

Dr. Trevors raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you think that this lack of closure is what drives you to having this reoccurring dream?”

She’s my sixth therapist, and already she’s showing signs of going the exact same way my other five did: too much marriage counseling, too much grief counseling. I didn’t blame her for keying in on the lack of closure so soon. I sigh.

"I mean, maybe." I’m fiddling with one of those mind puzzle toys, a box of boxes made out of interlocking wood bars. That had been a good sign, I had thought at the beginning. Already she was different, the others had optimistically vague pamphlets or hard candy, sometimes nothing at all. Maybe she may have different answers for me, ones that fit into my mind better than the other five had.

"No you don’t." She said this with such certainly I look up to meet her analytical brown eyes for the first time since walking in. My puzzle falls apart with the jerk. She has a small smirk forming in the corners of her mouth. "From what I can hear, this is all centered around you watching guilt drive your best friend into achieving the impossible. It’s about loosing your sense of reality, and about escape. All of this suggests to me that you have unresolved guilt that may or may not have something to do with the death of a close personal contact as well as a slight obsession with fictional settings."

I’m gaping at her.

"Unfortunately, Mr. DuVal, that concludes our session for this week. I suggest you start writing out the plot of this dream to the best of your ability. If it occurs again, write it down as you remember it after, even if you feel nothing has changed. You may just be surprised. See you next week?"

I manage to pick up my jaw. “Yeah. Next week.”

I gather all my things, frowning at the unfinished puzzle. She doesn’t even look up.

“Take it with you, I have a desk full.”

"No," I say, surprised for the fifth time. "It’ll be my goal: to finish it in a session."

She looks up from her paperwork and notes, studying my face with detached interest. “Very well, Mr. DuVal. Have a nice evening.”

"You too." I pause at the door. "Thank you."

For the first time in months, I leave with a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could get my life back on track.

~

Seriously, though, that choice always bothered me. Did he take the blue pill?

Or was it the red one?


End file.
